Building the Bond
by Shelly Lane
Summary: When Dawson is kidnapped, Toby attempts to find him with help from a mysterious stranger. Toby also realizes that he and Dawson should be friends, and he begins planning to start trying to bond with Basil's new partner. Doyle owns the Sherlockian characters; Disney owns the other characters and the setting; Randomkungfupandafan had the idea for this story.
1. The Case Commences

**The Case Commences**

I always used the excuse that I hated the catgut he had used to stitch his sleeve, but no one ever believed me. I don't blame them, for catgut is no longer made of real cat. To be completely honest, the real reason I hated Dr. Dawson was that he reminded me of one of Basil's enemies.

Even the police had never found out his real name, but to show his skill at murdering the innocent, the criminal always called himself "the master of muricide." I knew Muricide was extremely overweight, and he always wore a hat similar to the style that Dawson was wearing the first time I met him. Forgive me, but I have an extreme dislike for any chubby mouse in such a hat.

Muricide! I shudder whenever I think of him! He was mayor of three cities, having forced the previous mayors into slavery. His idea of fun was looting churches, synagogues, and other places of worship, usually setting a fire as soon as he had finished his raid.

At the beginning of his criminal career, he had been rivals with Ratigan, each competing to commit the worst crime before the other had a chance. Finally, it got to be too much for the sewer rat.

"Listen, Muricide!" the enraged felon shouted. "Around here, _**I**_ am the world's greatest criminal mind! Everyone in the empire fears the name of Padraic Ratigan, and I don't need anyone stealing my infamy! If you want to be notorious, do it elsewhere! This is your final warning! If you so much as commit a misdemeanor, I shall take it as a great insult, and we shall duel over the right to be Mousedom's most vile criminal!"

Being a mouse, Muricide had no wish to fight Ratigan, so he fell on his knees. "Oh, please forgive me, sir! I envy your cunning so much that I desire to be like you! Why must there be hostility between us when we could be partners?!"

An even grimmer plot began simmering in Ratigan's brain. "Partners you say? What an excellent idea! You will obey me in all things, and you will commit no crimes without my approval! In return, I will give you wages as I see fit, and you will have your share in any profits I make from my schemes! If you should fail…!" He didn't have to finish his sentence.

Although that hadn't been what he had in mind, Muricide made a good henchman. He served Ratigan well, often as a spy. However, the rat never could bring himself to trust his former rival, so even though he was excellent at his job, Muricide never obtained the title of "favorite." Truth be told, the professor almost feared him; thus Muricide was never threatened, and he never feared the bell as the other henchmen did. In fact, as time passed, the rat called on Muricide for help less and less frequently.

"Felicia, my angel," he often confided in his pet, "it's almost too much to manage! Muricide's brilliance is second only to Basil's! I can't harm my most intelligent henchman, for he no doubt already has a plan of retaliation ready to be executed after his death! I have to keep him happy, but at the same time, I have to appear to be in absolute control! Meanwhile, Basil keeps attempting to have me arrested! It's almost more than I can bear, placating one genius while outwitting another! You ought to be grateful you were born so obtuse, for you will never have the burden my shrewd mind carries daily! You must tell me, sweetheart: What's it like being an imbecile? If ignorance is bliss, you must be happy. Is it not so, my darling cat?"

During the last few years of his life, Ratigan barely saw Muricide. He allowed the mouse to plan a few crimes to make sure Muricide would be entertained, but other than that, Ratigan no longer made demands of his previous competitor.

Everything changed after the professor died. Muricide seized the opportunity he had awaited for years. Less than a fortnight after Ratigan's demise, Muricide was beginning to make a name for himself. He even proclaimed himself to be Ratigan's heir, claiming all the stolen goods the rat had accumulated, even announcing that he was now in charge of Ratigan's gang.

However, it wasn't until much later that I learned of Muricide's usurpation. I knew how evil he was, but it was Ratigan, not Muricide, who was on my mind.

The night Ratigan died, Felicia almost lost her own life to the royal guard dogs. Dragging herself out of their enclosure, she managed to use the last of her strength to find Baker Street. I have no idea why she wanted to die here, but my humans found her and saved her life. As if that wasn't bad enough, they decided she would be staying with us.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate that stupid cat?! She makes my life _miserable_! After several weeks here, she still acts as if she expects my humans to beat her severely if she makes the slightest mistake, trembling each time someone tries to pet her and cringing every time someone calls her name. She twitches violently in her sleep, calling Ratigan's name and begging for mercy. Even worse, there are mornings when she wakes from a peaceful dream and bursts into tears, apologizing to several names I've never heard, especially some guy named "Bartholomew."

The philosophical questions are worst of all! For example: Do I think Ratigan's victims are in a better place? If I had a criminal record, would it ever be right for me to forgive myself? How would I feel if I didn't deserve to live, but I was alive when so many innocent citizens were dead? Do I ever wish I could have met Ratigan before his heart became as cold, dark, and bitter as winter solstice? If I had been evil, would it be right to move on with my life, become good, and act as if I were never a criminal, or should I spend the rest of my life punishing myself with my guilt?

I don't mind a few inquiries, but it's always between midnight and dawn when that brainless cat asks these pointless questions! Sometimes I think the only way I'll ever get a good night's sleep again is if I can get my paws on some chloroform and…never mind.

Furthermore, I detest the way she hounds me. "Toby, you need to open your mind! You forget that Dawson was the doctor who saved Basil's life after my former master tried to kill the investigator on Big Ben! So what if Dawson reminds you of a certain criminal by his weight and the style of hat he wears?! I don't go around hating everyone in a tuxedo or loathing all rats because they remind me of my oppressor!"

When I ignore her, she continues, "You're an idiot! Dawson is offering you his friendship, and you're rejecting it! You're killing your chance of…!"

At this point, she always cries.

I hate melodrama almost as much as I hate cats, so a melodramatic cat…! I've got to find her a support group or something because this has officially gotten out of hand. I don't even know what or problem is or why she has sudden fits of emotions. Nothing she does makes sense, and every time I ask, she always changes the subject. Even though she's trying to reform, Felicia must have been an excellent criminal; I can never get her to confess anything.

Add that to the fact that she's obese and ugly, not to mention she sheds all over the flat, and you can see why I hate this imbecilic cat so much. Then there's that little problem about her past record; I'm not sure whether she can be trusted or whether she's going to have a relapse.

Enough about her! She isn't worth my time! How did I even get started talking about that…?

Oh yes! Ratigan and Muricide! Ratigan had survived the fall from Big Ben, but Felicia had "convinced him not to cause any more trouble." In other words, the professor was dead, and although I didn't know it at the time, Muricide was plotting a terrible scheme that would have made even Ratigan envious.


	2. The Disappearing Doctor

**The Disappearing Doctor**

Basil had made Dawson his partner, and they began to work all cases together. I still didn't care much for Dawson's company, but Basil insisted that we put aside our differences in order to solve the case. The doctor always tipped his hat to me, and at the end of the day, I always fell victim to one of Felicia's harangues.

"Idiot!" she began. "Don't you know that by tipping his hat, he indicates willingness to be your friend?! You're an imbecile, dog! If someone offered me their friendship, I'd…!" The rest of her speech would be lost to sobs.

"Don't you have any friends?!" I demanded one day.

She tried to give me a blank stare, which would have worked better if there hadn't been tears in eyes.

"What is your problem?" I queried. "The Felicia I used to know…"

"She's dead!" She smiled. "The Felicia you used to know is dead! The royal guard dogs killed her! The cat you see before you is the playful kitten you tried to befriend once when you were a puppy!"

"You didn't used to be an emotional wreck!" I pointed out.

"I feel now," she responded. "I'm no longer wicked. Now I feel guilt. I feel remorse. I feel the pain of my former misdeeds. Now that I have a heart, I can feel how heavy it is, how much it aches due to all the lives I wasted, including my own. When I was a kitten, I felt fear. When I was a young adult, I felt anger. When I finally became a villainess, I felt nothing. Now I feel regret. Time heals all wounds. I'm sure someday I'll feel happiness. Your humans are kind to me, Toby. I couldn't dream of a better life."

Stupid cat! I made up my mind to take care of this problem once and for all!

"I've had enough of this!" I exclaimed. "You are telling me what's wrong, or we're fighting it out!"

"So you hate me?" she inquired, almost nonchalantly. "Alright. I suppose I deserve it."

"It's not my fault you wish you still worked for Ratigan!"

That was the wrong thing to say. Before I had time to react, I fell under merciless claws. Naturally, I fought back.

"Toby! Felicia! Stop this madness at once!"

I ceased fighting and lowered my head in shame as Basil approached. Felicia also ended her attack, lowering her eyes to the floor.

"Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?! What would Mr. Holmes say?! Mrs. Hudson certainly wouldn't take kindly to your conflict!"

We both sat silently as Basil continued to scold.

"Felicia, proving yourself a good citizen after years of being a criminal will be much easier if you refrain from violent displays of temper. Toby, I understand that you tend to dislike cats, but you must try to be more understanding with Felicia. If the two of you would ever cooperate for more than fifteen seconds at a time, I believe you could become a close team."

I whimpered to show I was sorry.

"By the way, have either of you seen Dawson? He left to tend a patient last night, and I haven't seen him since. I'm beginning to fear the worst."

When Basil returned a few hours later, he had one of Dawson's jackets.

"Find him, Toby! I'm certain I'm merely being a bit paranoid, but I simply cannot shake the feeling that some appalling event has transpired."

With the cat trailing us, I managed to track Basil's associate to the train station. Catching another scent, I began to growl.

"What is it, Toby?!" Basil checked the ground for clues. "Muricide! I should have known he'd be up to something! Only last week, he helped five of Ratigan's ruffians escape prison!"

He knelt on the ground. "I should have suspected it sooner! Fool that I am to let my own assistant be taken hostage!" The detective covered his face with his hands. "I can only imagine what tortures he'll face!"

I recognized that look in Basil's eyes when he finally looked up. He was about to slip into depression. I tried tugging on my leash to snap him out of it, but it was to no avail.

Suddenly, the investigator stood to his feet. "He wouldn't have me give up. If Dawson were here, he'd insist that I at least attempt a rescue, no matter how hopeless the situation. I must investigate."

While Basil had a word with the station manager, Felicia had a talk with me.

"We're going to catch him, right?"

I shook my head. "Not likely. Muricide's a mastermind."

"He isn't nearly as clever as Ratigan!" she retorted. "I, for one, am tired of this arrogant mouse who never even uses his real name! He even steals my title! Ratigan trained _me_ to be the 'master of muricide,' and I say it's time I showed this churl whose criminal ring is truly the most feared in the empire!"

"Felicia, you used to be the pet of his rival," I reminded her. "If Muricide catches you..."

"He'd hire a dog to end my life, or perhaps a group of tough rats to have me overpowered and shot, or perhaps stabbed, thus freeing himself from any competition from his former rival. Then it would be felicide," she answered calmly.

"But…!"

She looked me in the eye. "Toby, I don't care. I'm grateful to your humans for saving my life, and I have no wish to die, but I know I am nothing to you. I am nothing to the rest of the world. My life is pointless, and everyone wishes I had died in the royal guard dogs' enclosure. No one cares about my reformation. If my existence is of that little value, what good is it?"

I didn't know how to respond.

"It's different with Dr. Dawson," she continued. "He saved Basil's life twice, and he has no doubt helped many others. Furthermore, he is Basil's friend, and he'd be yours too if you'd stop judging him by his weight and the hat he wears. He works for justice. The empire would suffer a great loss if Dawson were to be killed. If I lose my life saving his, it would be like paying a shilling for the finest gem in Ratigan's lair."

I had officially had enough of this nonsense, so I pinned the cat between my paws and snarled menacingly.

"Listen, cat!" I growled. "I'm tired of hearing how worthless you are! You forget how Ratigan died!"

Felicia smiled. "Oh, Toby! You do care!"

"Stop with the sentimentality! You're on the case now!"

"A case you will never solve!" She wriggled free of my grasp. "You're an excellent sleuth, Toby, but you don't understand criminal mentality. You have much to learn."

Before we could continue our discussion, I felt someone seize my leash.

"Toby, I won't even pretend I have the slightest inkling how you got here!"

I turned to face Mr. Holmes.

"We have business of the most urgent nature in Salisbury."

Salisbury?! But I needed to be in London! Basil needed me to help find Dawson!


	3. The Mysterious Messages

**The Mysterious Messages**

By the time we arrived in Salisbury, it was late at night. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson had made arrangements to stay with a friend of theirs. They decided the best course of action was to get some rest and begin the case early the next morning.

"What a charming cat!" Dr. Watson remarked.

"We have no cat," our host replied.

"So the white creature outside is a stray?"

Our host looked out the window. "I've never seen it before in my life. I suppose it's a stray, for my neighbors certainly don't care for cats. They raise wolfhounds."

Mr. Holmes began puffing on his pipe. "Do you by any chance know how your neighbors make their living?"

"They inherited a large sum of money. They need no jobs."

"I'm not entirely sure I feel comfortable staying near such large dogs," Dr. Watson confessed. "It puts me in mind of the case at Baskerville Hall."

"It's all in how the dog is trained, Doctor," Mr. Holmes responded. "If the wolfhounds were vicious creatures, would that stray cat be so at ease here?"

"Unless the cat was unaware of their existence."

"Hardly the case, Watson. As a stray, the animal would have a sort of sense for which areas were safe and which were potentially dangerous."

"But, Holmes, it looks too well fed for a stray!"

"Nevertheless, I was summoned here as a detective, not a naturalist. Let the cat do as it pleases; it is none of my concern. My business is to investigate the disappearance of Miss Manumit."

I tried to sleep, but I had a terrible case of insomnia. I was worried. Was there a way I could help my human catch his villain while still helping Basil rescue Dawson? Why was that white cat still outside? It was as if the cat were watching me. Was it a spy for Muricide, Dawson's captor? Would the neighbor's wolfhounds be angry if they saw me too close to their yard?

Oh! I understood now. This was why Felicia had so much trouble sleeping at night. She had her own worries and questions.

It seemed I had barely closed my eyes when I smelled sausages cooking. I yawned and stretched.

Mr. Holmes looked up from his paper. "Did you sleep well, Toby?"

Sleep? I doubt tossing and turning on the floor all night counted as sleeping well.

"Watson and I have to meet some people at their hotel this morning, so we must leave you here for a few hours. Try to behave yourself. We shall return by lunch; hopefully by then, we shall have a lead for you to trace."

I whined to show I would miss him, but I slowly wagged my tail to show I would be a gracious guest. During breakfast, Mr. Holmes "accidentally" dropped half a sausage and an egg.

"My most sincere apologies," he told our host. "I'm not typically this maladroit."

I'll say this for our host: He sure knew how to cook!

Not long after Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson left, our host opened the door, suggesting that I stretch my legs, but warning me not to wander off too far. I explored the yard and wandered down the street, trying to catch every smell I could in case I had to track down any of the scents later. When I arrived at the back door of my host's home, I saw a small piece of paper, which I began to read.

_Fi uoy era S'lisab dnuoh, uoy lliw eb elba ot daer tahw I evah nettirw. Netsil, Ybot. Uoy evah ot evas Noswad erofeb gnihtemos dab sneppah ot mih. Eht slanimirc lliw tcejbus mih ot ereves serutrot. Tsurt em. I wonk._

_-Eht Eurt Retsam fo Edicirum_

What a pity Basil had never taught me to read Latin! Or was it Greek? Russian? Sanskrit?

I sniffed at the paper, trying to figure out who had written the note. It smelled like flour. A baker perhaps? But why would a baker leave a note like that on my host's back porch? Furthermore, the penmanship was too small to be a human's but too large to be a mouse's. A rat's? Whoever it was must have known I was here. Otherwise, why would they have written in a foreign language?

Where was Basil?! He could have deduced everything within seconds!

Realizing there was nothing I could do, I tucked the note into my collar so I could read it again later when inspiration hit me. I put my nose to the ground to try to catch more scents.

Flour? Was the note's author really so close? I followed the trail more by sight than smell, for traces of flour nearly covered the ground like a thin blanket of fresh snow. When the flour was no longer visible, I found myself standing before a pub too small to serve humans.

"Chardonnay!" someone ordered. "Bring me your finest! Money is no issue!"

"Yes, sir," the bartender replied meekly.

"Your sign says smoking isn't allowed here, but I'm having a cigar! I trust that won't be a problem!"

"No, sir. No problem at all."

The voice sounded familiar. Of course! It was Muricide, the murderer who had kidnapped Dawson!

What?! He was here in Salisbury?! Why wasn't he in London?!

What did the flour have to do with anything?! Muricide was a mastermind at plotting diabolical schemes, but I seriously doubted he could bake anything if his life depended on it.

Where was Basil when I needed him?!

I sniffed around the pub, trying to get Muricide's scent so I could follow it to where he was hiding Dawson. Instead, I saw another trail of flour leading to a narrow alley, where I found another note:

_Ih, Ybot!_

_Os uoy dnuof Edicirum! I wenk uoy dluow! Hguohtla a suineg, eh si a erutaerc fo tibah; eh sah a yannodrahc yreve yad ta net kcolc'o. I t'nod wonk yhw, tub ti si enon fo ym ssenisub! I lliw kcehc lla sih etirovaf stuoedih dna evael erom seulc rof uoy._

_-Ruoy dneirf (Nac I yas "dneirf"?)_

_Eht Eurt Retsam fo Edicirum_

These notes were beginning to frustrate me! It was becoming obvious that whoever wrote them was trying to leave clues for me (or perhaps warnings?) As I was contemplating what they could mean, I caught sight of a sinister figure, a white cat, who beckoned for me to come closer.

"You Basil's dog?" the cat asked in a gravelly voice.

I nodded hesitantly. "Are you the cat I saw last night?"

Ignoring my question, the cat continued, "You're lucky Muricide plotted his scheme in Salisbury. A strange coincidence, but certainly a welcome one."

"Why are you disguising your voice?"

The cat frowned. "I don't follow."

"I'm a detective. I can tell when someone isn't using their real voice."

"I have a cold."

"Tell me something I'll believe."

"If you don't find Dawson by midnight, they'll kill him. They've already tormented him by keeping him without food or water, chaining him to the wall of a dark basement, and forcing him to watch brutal murders. I can't tell why they want to get rid of him, unless it's for revenge."

"Revenge?!"

"Not many criminals like Basil," the cat responded. "You've done an excellent job finding me. If you don't think too hard, you'll be able to deduce the meaning of the notes. You're a brilliant detective, Toby, but you need help."

"What kind of help?" I asked suspiciously.

"You need to ask someone where the best hideouts are for felons in Salisbury." The cat threw down a small jacket. "Can you track? I believe this belongs to Dawson."

"How did you get this jacket?!" I demanded.

"The same way I got the information: by stealing it. I can find a thief to steal the captive, but it will be risky. For your part, you must find the doctor after he makes his escape. If you don't, the felons will only capture him again. If you try to rescue him yourself, you'll be in danger. You don't understand how criminals reason."

I glared. "Are you a criminal?!"

"You catch on slow for a sleuth."

"Who are you, cat?!" I snarled.

"I'm the best of the worst around. No one can doubt what I know I can do. The rest fall behind to me, the world's greatest cat."

I continued to growl.

"That was a clue, sleuth." With that, the cat left.


	4. The Answers Arrive

**The Answers Arrive**

When I returned to the home where I was staying, Mr. Holmes was waiting impatiently, rhetorically demanding to know where I had been. He had me spend two full hours trying to track down human suspects. Finally, I found Miss Manumit herself. She was barely conscious, but Mr. Holmes was sure she would survive.

"Let her rest, and she will be an invaluable resource," he declared. "Surely she would clearly remember who kidnapped her and what might cause them to do such a thing."

He placed a hand on my head. "Fine work, Toby."

I had helped rescue the human victim. Now I needed to find Dawson. If he died, Basil wouldn't take it too well. The great mouse detective had already lost one best friend to a criminal mastermind, and I was sure he couldn't bear it to lose another.

Sniffing at the jacket, I tried in vain to find any sort of trail. I knew I was running out of time. The sun had already set, and the mysterious cat had told me that Dawson would be killed if I hadn't found him by midnight.

Flour? I couldn't see it very well in the dark, but I could smell flour again. I decided to follow the scent, and after several blocks, I noticed a small figure dressed almost identical to my human.

"Toby?!"

I barked.

"However did you come to be in Salisbury?!" Basil shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. "Never mind! Are you trailing Dawson?"

I nodded.

The investigator motioned to the barely visible trail of flour. "Is that how you found me?"

I nodded again.

"Someone led you to me. Someone must care very much about Dawson's welfare. I must wonder who bothered involving themselves in such a dangerous case."

Realizing the notes were still tucked into my collar, I handed them to Basil. Using a bit of light from one of the windows in a nearby building, the detective read the first.

"Elementary, my dear Toby," he remarked. "Someone wanted you to get the message easily."

_If you are Basil's hound, you will be able to read what I have written. Listen, Toby. You have to save Dawson before something bad happens to him. The criminals will subject him to severe tortures. Trust me. I know._

_ -The True Master of Muricide _

He smoked his pipe as he paced. "'Muricide' means the killing of mice. However, the felon we now pursue is known by the alias of 'Muricide.' Whoever wrote this either means to say he or she is a better mouser, so to speak, than the ruffian who kidnapped Dawson, or that he or she is more clever or powerful than this villain."

The second note read:

_Hi, Toby!_

_ So you found Muricide! I knew you would! Although a genius, he is a creature of habit; he has a chardonnay every day at ten o'clock. I don't know why, but it is none of my business! I will check all his favorite hideouts and leave more clues for you._

_ -Your friend (Can I say "friend"?)_

_ The True Master of Muricide_

"Most intriguing!" Basil remarked. "Whoever it is has a great deal of knowledge about Muricide's habits, but the author must wish you well, unless this is a trap."

As Basil attempted to concentrate, I tried to focus on my own clues. I remembered that the first note had smelled like flour, which reminded me of the white cat who had been lurking outside my host's home the previous evening. I then recalled the flour trail leading to the pub where Muricide had been enjoying his chardonnay, and then I'd had a confrontation with the white cat.

Wait! Flour and a white cat? Were cats intelligent enough to disguise themselves? The cat's voice had sounded unnatural. Was this cat a spy trying to lead me into a trap? No, that was impossible! Why would I have then been led to Basil? He never made the same mistake twice, so he would never have been convinced to walk into a trap again.

What was it the cat had said? After admitting to be a criminal and stealing information, hadn't my enemy said something like, "I'm the best of the worst around. No one can doubt what I know I can do. The rest fall behind to me, the world's greatest cat"?

It sounded so familiar somehow. Of course! I remembered now!

_Even meaner?_

_You mean it?_

_Worse than the widows and orphans you drowned?_

_You're __**the best of the worst around**_

_Oh, Ratigan! Oh, Ratigan!_

_**The rest fall behind**_

_**To**_ _Ratigan! To Ratigan!_

Wasn't there also a line about "To Ratigan, the world's greatest rat"? That rhymed with "the world's greatest cat," and there had indeed been a cat waiting for all who dared say "rat."

_Even louder!_

_We'll shout it!_

_**No one can doubt what **__we __**know**__ you __**can do**_

The white cat had been trying to hint at previous association with Ratigan! Wait! It wasn't even a white cat! Some cat, who used to know Ratigan, had disguised itself with flour in order to try to help me find Dawson, and this same cat was no doubt the one who had helped me find Basil. But why had the cat needed to appear to have a different identity? Was he or she in danger? Could Muricide find someone to kill a cat, as Felicia had suggested before I left for Salisbury? Would he really hire a gang of rats with weapons? Dogs perhaps?

I was willing to bet someone like Muricide, who was trying to outdo Ratigan, would hire other cats as spies. That's why the cat covered with flour had disguised its voice.

I had to find this cat and say thank you. I had no idea where to start looking, but it simply wouldn't do to ignore someone who had given me so much help.

"Toby!"

My deductions interrupted, I hurried to see what Basil wanted.

"Dawson's hat!" He held out the clue he had just found.

I sniffed the ground and, finding Dawson's scent next to Muricide's, I bayed. Basil climbed onto my back, and I began tracking Dawson as fast as I could. We found him staggering up a hill, as if trying to escape the criminals that pursued him. His clothing was torn, and his breathing was uneven.

Basil gingerly helped him onto my head. "Steady, old chap. The worst is over. All will be well now."


	5. The Case Concludes

**The Case Concludes**

By the next morning, Dawson was feeling much better. While Mr. Holmes made some final inquiries to solve the case of Miss Manumit's kidnapping, I visited the hotel where the two mice were staying.

"I suppose you have questions," Dawson began.

"Wait until you're ready," Basil answered gently.

"I feel like I have to tell you everything as quickly as possible. These memories are too painful to carry alone."

"Alright, but if it gets to be too much for you, don't feel obligated to continue." Basil handed his friend a cup of chamomile tea.

"The night I disappeared, I was asked to treat a patient. When I arrived at the address given, Muricide was waiting for me. It had been a trap. We were only a few blocks from the train station, and he had his men, the ones you claim used to serve Ratigan, tie me up and drag me onto the train. They brought me here, and they kept me in the basement of an abandoned house that was large enough that humans must have lived there." Dawson paused to gather his wits.

"I'd heard some of Ratigan's men had escaped from prison," Basil remarked.

"While I was there, I got no food or water, and they chained me to the wall. They forced me to watch horrible murders. One young lady died grabbing onto a curtain, pulling it down as she fell." He shook his head, unable to discuss any of the other murders he had witnessed.

"The eradicators shall be brought to justice," Basil assured him, lightly placing a hand on Dawson's shoulder. "These innocent souls will be at rest when their killers are punished."

Dawson nodded in silent agreement.

"Did they cause you any physical injury?"

"Only a few punches," Dawson managed to whisper. "I was lucky. They would have killed me if the strange cat hadn't…Basil, you'll never believe this, but a cat that looked as if it had been covered with flour managed to sneak into the house while the ruffians were sleeping. The cat put a paw to its lips to silence me, and it managed to free me. I have no idea how a cat developed enough cunning to liberate me from chains, but this one did. Then it poured fake blood on the floor and carried me outside. The cat then motioned to its lips and waved its paw in dismissal, pointing to the ground after motioning to itself, as if to say, 'They will think I've killed you. Now make your escape. I will stay behind to make sure they don't come after you."

Basil lit his pipe. "What cat in his or her right mind would stay behind to distract criminals in order to help a mouse escape?"

"I wouldn't have the first inkling. Muricide had the house surrounded by dogs, and there were rats with guns. It's almost as if he expected a cat to oppose him. The cat must have had years of experience among thieves in order to sneak past all who guarded me. For some reason, they were all sleeping, as if maybe something had been slipped into their drink, or perhaps their evening meal."

Now I was incredibly confused. The dogs and rats had indeed been there. Some cat, who obviously understood the ways of criminals, had caused Dawson's captors to fall asleep. The unusual feline had then stolen the hostage and remained at the ruffians' lair to make sure his or her plan would succeed and no criminals would attempt to follow Basil's partner as he made his escape. Who would do such a thing?! I wanted to find the flour-covered cat with the disguised voice and demand an explanation.

"I knew you would come, Basil!" Dawson told his friend. "I knew you would find me!"

"I should love to take credit, but I was not the one who solved the case!" Basil replied. "Toby's been following your scent througout the entire city!"

Dawson stepped outside. "I didn't think you cared for my company."

I licked his hands and allowed him to pet my nose. He was a kind mouse, not to mention a very brave one, and there was really no reason for me to hate him. So what if he wore the same kind of hat Muricide did, and who cared if he was also overweight? He was nothing like Basil's enemy!

Hearing a familiar whistle, I turned to see Mr. Holmes.

"Confound it, Toby! Must you always vanish without a trace?! Have you any idea how foolish a detective appears to be when he has difficulty locating his own dog?!" He fastened my leash. "We shall be leaving shortly." Stooping to the ground, he rhetorically asked, "What's this?"

Just outside the mouse hotel were two human-sized glass jars. Inside one were Muricide and Ratigan's henchmen who had escaped from prison. The other contained about five rats. (It was a very snug fit; none of them had any room to move, and even though there were a few holes in the lid, I got the feeling none of them were breathing too well.)

Mr. Holmes frowned. "How did those rodents come to be in these jars? No doubt someone has been collecting mice and rats to take to the laboratory for scientific experiments, but they forgot these two jars. No matter. I shall be pleased to take the animals there before returning home. Whoever captured them has a most unusual sense of humor, for he or she took time to put clothing on the creatures before sealing them in the jar."

My human hadn't exactly reached the correct conclusion, but people just aren't willing to believe that rodents wear clothing or that animals can bring each other to justice. Forgive me, but I nearly laughed at the felons' plight, especially when I caught the scent of flour around the lids. The flour-covered cat had made sure the criminal rodents would never again cause trouble.


	6. The Exciting Epilogue

**The Exciting Epilogue**

When we returned home, we were greeted by Mrs. Hudson. "Oh, Mr. Holmes! Have you seen my cat? She disappeared!" She dabbed her eyes. "I miss her, and I'm afraid something awful has happened!"

"I shall do my best to locate her at once," Mr. Holmes replied.

Before he could begin the search, Felicia came through the pet door. She had her typical smirk, so I knew she had been up to something.

Mrs. Hudson ran to embrace her, and for once, Felicia didn't cower. In fact, she accepted the display of affection with what appeared to be genuine happiness.

"I'm glad to see you again! I'll get you some prawns. You'll like that, won't you?"

Felicia purred. (She loves prawns.)

"You and Dawson seem to be getting along well," she commented when we had a moment to ourselves later.

I nodded. "He's really nice. He even gave me a treat this morning!" Catching something white on her paw, I tried to get a closer look. "Is that flour?!"

"Didn't I get it all off?" She smiled. "I'm glad you're starting to build a bond with Dawson. The two of you will be close friends. I'm sure of it."

She was right. Within a fortnight, Dawson and I were building a close bond. By the end of the month, I liked him almost as much as I liked Basil. (Forgive me, but I still favored Basil since I'd known him since I was a puppy, but I would have gladly done anything for Dawson.)

In the rare event that anyone is wondering about the stupid cat, she's stopped having nightmares, but I still have trouble sleeping at night. She'll have a dream, laugh so hard in her sleep that she wakes up, mutter something about a "dumb sewer rat," and go back to sleep with a smile on her face. Stupid cat! Ever since she's stopped being afraid of my humans, she's been acting like she owns the entire flat!

But that's another story. Like I said, this story isn't about her. All I'm concerned with is that Dawson and I finally became close friends, much to Basil's delight. I look forward to my next case, but I hope it doesn't involve danger for either of my two best friends.

For any of my _three_ best friends.


End file.
